The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)

“Time to wake up.” His deep voice muffled through his chest. “We’re almost there.”

Rich, honey light. Sunrise or sunset. No more darkness. No more crickets. No more shimmering moonlight. I flinch, still comfortable in his arms.

“Did you—did you walk all night?” I peer up at him through sleepy eyes.

“I did.” He smiles down at me. Not a drop of sweat. No sign of exhaustion.

“Is it morning or night?” I wince. Please tell me he only walked for a couple of hours.

“We’re nearing dusk.”

I slap my hands over my face, shielding my eyes from the horror.

“You walked all night and all day!” I groan into my palms. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

That smile is different. It’s not laced with ulterior motives or strutting arrogance. It’s kind. It’s sweet. “You needed sleep. You’ve been through a lot.”

“You have too,” I say, pointing my toes, stretching my legs. “I can walk now.” I nudge his chest with my nose.

He lets me down gently. I straighten my dress, glancing back at him.

“Your arms must be so sore. I’m so sorry.” Carrying deadweight all night and all day. I can’t believe he didn’t wake me—

But that blurred, bloody flash of his young face hovering over me as he ran—ran—with me, beaten to near death in his arms. It was miles from my father’s house to Survivah… Miles.

It’s like touching a pot of boiling water. I flinch inwardly.

“You’ve—grown accustomed to carrying me over long distances, haven’t you?”

Here it is. The question.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he confesses with longing like hot coals in his eyes. “But—”

I jump at the sight of the great mass of fur behind Dessin—no—Kane, stalking toward us.

Kane looks back at DaiSzek, smirks, then nods at me to keep going.

Only a few feet away is a mammoth sycamore tree covered in vines and thick clusters of ivy, hanging like a green tangled curtain. Kane grabs hold of the bottom of the green ropes, pulling them aside to reveal a treehouse at the top.

“After you.” He gestures. Carved wooden planks, like steps to a ladder, lead up to the top of the platform.

~

It’s another world out here, overlooking the tops of the forest trees, like heads of broccoli. The sun burning in flames as it falls toward the horizon, and the wind, strong and refreshing as if it flows more powerfully through the treehouse.

Kane sits against the wall of uneven wooden panels, watching me as I dangle my legs from the edge, observing our new hideout.

“I’ve worked so hard to meet you, Kane.” My voice breaks, cracking around the edges. “I deserve answers.” But I can already tell that he’s been sifting through what he can tell me and what he can’t.

I don’t look back at him. I can’t. The anticipation for more secrets and more unanswered questions is hard to bear.

“I was there. I saw how much of yourself you put into helping him. Helping me.” He shifts against the wall. “I’ll tell you as much as I possibly can—but there are some pieces that have to wait. He won’t let me share them.”

I blow out a frustrated breath. Dessin, of course, loves his secrets.

“Where would you like me to start?” he offers.

“The day Jack died. The day I almost died after he beat me.” My voice scratches from my throat harshly.

“I escaped from Demechnef often when I was younger. One of the days I freed myself, I wandered into the Bear Traps, and—I heard you—screaming.” It’s the wince that is almost audible in his voice. Screaming. The pain, tangible.

But I keep my focus on the horizon, even as the bright-orange light makes my eyes water.

“I followed your cries until I found your father’s house and saw you in a puddle of blood on the floor through the window.” He clears his throat. Takes a long pause. “I broke down the door and tackled Jack to the ground, throwing him off your body. And that’s when I carefully picked you up and carried you out of there.”

That confirms it, then. When I woke up in the infirmary days later, they told me the person who rescued me… also killed my father.

“Did he suffer?” I can hardly push out the thought. I’m not sure I want his answer.

“Skylenna—” He moves closer to the edge, a silent plea for me to look at him. I hold my hand up and shake my head.

“Just tell me.”

“Jack—he—slit his own throat.”

My heart stops—no—that’s not what they told me—

“I tried to stop him.” A thunderstorm in his tone, dark and remorseful.

I turn to him now, my tears blurring his hard edges. “You saw it happen?”

He nods. “I had you in my arms when he did it. I begged him to put the knife down. But—he asked me to tell you that he was sorry and that he’ll always love you.”

I use both of my hands to cover my mouth and try to hold back the broken sobs that shake my shoulders. He killed himself.

“Oh my God,” I cry. Everyone I’ve ever loved—all gone—all chose to leave.

Kane doesn’t wait for permission. He moves around me swiftly. Wraps his strong arms around me as I cry. “What is wrong with me?”

“They were sick, sweet Skylenna. That wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Ignorance is bliss. Dessin must have known the secrets I would uncover would be ugly ones. Nasty ones. The kind that are better off rotting alone.

“And you ran with me in your arms for miles. You’re the reason I’m alive.” He could have left me there. I was as good as dead anyway. But—the math—that was four years ago.

“Kane, they told me when you admitted yourself in the asylum, that was one of the worst breakdowns of yours they had ever seen.” I twist in his arms to get a better look at his face. His features fall, and that longing turns to torment.

“Yes, I remember,” he says stiffly.

“That was four years ago.”

He looks down. “So, you’ve done the math.”

But the memories keep trickling in, like a broken faucet. “Dessin told me that you had to turn yourself in—because they found your weakness.” He wouldn’t say what it was. “He said you found something to live for.”

His throat bobs. “It nearly tore my heart out to see you near death in my arms as I ran through the hills and the trees and the city. I’ve never run that fast in my life.”

Me. His weakness was me. “But you didn’t even know me.”

He uses his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“When I heard you screaming… It was as if I was six years old again, watching my mother scream. But I couldn’t save her then. All I could do was watch and cry. Hearing those screams again woke something inside of me. I couldn’t save her, but I could save you.”

It’s as if I can hear the puzzle piece to this story physically clicking into place. I was his redemption. The guilt he held toward what happened to Sophia. I was his second chance.

“I’ve never had anything to care for after I lost my family. You were the purest, sweetest human being. Then and now.” He strokes my back in lazy circles. “And Dessin got the chance to know you in the asylum, learned of your heart, and the fire you have to care for others. It’s been one of the most rewarding times of my life to watch that behind his eyes.”

It all fits. “That’s why Dessin went to such great lengths to protect me. To avenge me. And that’s why I felt I knew him that first day. Because you were the angel that swept me away from death.” The tears gather again, this time from joy, from happiness.

“But why didn’t he just tell me? Why the secrecy?”

“Because my saving you that day—it made you a target to Demechnef. I wanted it to be your choice. To run with me. I didn’t want you to feel it was being forced on you.”

Because either way, he’d find a way to protect me, no matter what.

Another question. “Why did he break Sern’s neck?”

He traumatized her. She went mad from being his conformist.

“Sern was faking the insanity. She and her family were being targeted by Demechnef due to her role. Dessin gave her a clean break. He only hurt her in a way that would heal but seemed severe enough that she could convince the asylum of her mind being lost from the trauma.”

The gravity of his situation grows in size, pushing down on my shoulders with large hands.

“But—he still knew so much—knew personal details that you couldn’t have known. How?” He knew about Scarlett. He knew about my time in the basement.

The sun sets like a glowing coal losing its heat. He watches it with sadness growing in his soul.

“That’s one of the questions I can’t answer just yet.” It bothers him that he can’t share all he knows. That flexing jawline. His curling fingers. Unlike Dessin, he doesn’t like games.

The thought of Dessin causes my heart to sink in my chest, like an anchor drifting down to the ocean floor. “Is he gone…forever? Is Dessin gone?” Please. Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes.

Kane smirks, rolling his eyes at the idea. “I’d never be so lucky,” he mutters sarcastically. “He won’t want to reside in the inner world for long. He’s grown too fond of you.”

I let out an audible sigh and close my eyes. I don’t know how any of this works. He could have disappeared. He could have retired from taking care of me, being my friend. I’m warm with relief and joy.

“What about his instincts with Aurick and Masten? He knew they were bad news and always had a sense they would hurt me. It all just seems like…he’s psychic or something!” I let out a frustrated breath.

Kane shrugs his broad shoulders. “Not psychic. But close. Our mind works differently. It doesn’t have barriers that would keep others from seeing signs in body language, verbal cues, and past and present behavior. Not to mention, Dessin takes his job as an avenging alter very seriously. He does his homework on everyone. So, he knew what to expect with Masten and Aurick.”

Makes sense. But I see Kane holding back in the clenched muscles of his jaw.

“That isn’t the whole story, is it?” I ask.

“Please believe that I’ll tell you the whole truth when it’s time.”

“We should sleep,” I say. Even though I only woke mere hours ago, my heart is worn and sore. I need the cover of nightfall to process, to sift through my new findings in my dreams. I need time.

Kane pulls out my cot, and we both settle in, adjusting to our first night together, in our new life on the run.